Chim-Sleeping With a Broken Heart
by gut
Summary: Cheryl Cole & Kimberley WalshI wake up. The baby is crying. My back hurts. I'm cold. I slowly sit up, stretching carefully, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. Damn, I still have yesterday's makeup on. I reach out blindly for my alarm clock and my hand meets concrete. Opening my eyes properly I see pop up tents, kids in sleeping bags all camped in the centre of town outside a huge shop.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I wake up. The baby is crying. My back hurts. I'm cold. I slowly sit up, stretching carefully, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. Damn, I still have yesterday's makeup on. I reach out blindly for my alarm clock and my hand meets concrete. Opening my eyes properly I see pop up tents, kids in sleeping bags all camped in the centre of town outside a huge shop. My little sister is still asleep next to me, all wrapped up in a pink sleeping bag, and my baby daughter is screaming, bundled inside her carry cot. What the fcuk are we doing here? For a moment I begin to panic, trying to remember what I did last night, but then I see a huge poster, two stories high, plastered on the side of a building. I see a face, perfect dark hair, flawless brown eyes and deep dimples. I read the words 'signing TODAY.'

"fuuck" I whisper.

"Kimbeerrleeeeey" whined Sacha, my little sister "how much longer do we have to wait?"  
"I dunno babes" I replied, stroking my eight year old sister's head, brushing her thick, dark hair out of her eyes. It was nearly nine o'clock at night and she was tired. So was I, and I had to be at work in a few hours. In fact everyone in the queue looked shattered, and they'd all waited for hours, days even, to meet their idol.

Sacha had nagged me for days, pleading with me to take her to the signing. "Please Kimberley" she'd said, her big, dark, puppy dog eyes never leaving my own. "Please, this is all I want, I just wanna meet her. You're the best big sister in the whole world, I love you sooo much..." Even our dad agreed with her. "It'll do her good, she'll love it. Stop being so selfish Kimberley. It's not all about you" he'd said, never taking his bloodshot eyes off the TV. "Just take her Kimberley." And I was too tired, too miserable, to argue with either of them. Anyway, what harm would it do? So I said yes. I said yes, I would take her to go see Cheryl Cole.

Standing in the line I hugged my baby daughter closer, resting my chin on her head of soft black curls. "It won't be much longer" I whispered, half to myself and half to Sacha, who smiled at me  
"You sure?"  
"Yeah. And if she's not here soon I'm gonna be late for work."

All day we'd waited, Sacha eating endless packets of monstermunch and talking to anyone and everyone. My baby grizzled and cried. I was bored. I painted my nails, then Sacha's, carefully painting 'I 3 CC' on each of her tiny nails. Quickly a small crowd of teenage girls congregated around me, some of them older than I was, all shyly asking if I would paint their nails. I painted everyone's even some of the boy's, writing 'CHERYL COLE' and 'FFTL3', a letter on each nail. Sacha held the baby whilst I painted, and she chatted away to everyone. I didn't say anything, I didn't even make eye contact with many people. The younger children looked at me in awe, the teenagers looked at me as if they were scared and their parents looked at me as if I were scum. 'You are scum' I reminded myself. I listened to what they said, the way they babbled on, and the snatched snippets of songs that they sung.  
"Ooh, thank you! It's beautiful! You're so clever!" they cooed, grinning at me when I'd finished. And I smiled too, happy with my work, but still silent.

But now the sun had gone down and it was getting colder once again. Shivers ran through the waiting crowd and somebody called out "she's on her way!" The crowd seemed to take a breath in, and became almost silent. Suddenly I felt as though the people around me were closing in, I was being squashed, I couldn't even breathe...  
"Hold her." I thrust the baby at Sacha, who instinctively clutched her tight. "I need air."  
"But Kim, you heard them, she's coming-"  
"I'll be two minutes, I promise" I say, already turning and walking away, looking over my shoulder at my little sister, standing alone in the crowd, holding the baby. She looks lost, alone. But then I turn away, and walked away as quickly as I could towards the disgusting public toilets at the end of the street, my trainers squeaking on the concrete.  
I wrenched the toilet door open and stepped inside, listening intently. Silence. Nobody was there. The sticky tiles were wet under my feet and there was an unnatural chill in the air, making my skin come up in goose bumps. I crossed the room and placed my hands around the edge of one of the sinks and leant forwards so that my forehead was almost touching the cracked glass of the mirror. I looked at my reflection. I looked shocking. My long, light brown hair fell limply around my face, puffy purple bags hung under my dark eyes and my skin was far too pale. Taking off my cap I scraped my hair away from my face, but it only highlighted the huge, dark shadows under my cheekbones, so I let it fall back down again. I looked tired, sad guilty.  
"No" I said out loud. I mentally shook myself. "It'll all be okay. Get a grip Kimberley." I tried to pretend that I didn't have butterflies eating away at my stomach. I picked up my cap and fixed it at what I liked to think of as an 'I don't give a toss' angle, smiling at the word 'PIMP' that was written on the front in big, red capital letters. I ran my eyes over the rest of my outfit, my white vest top through which you could just see my leopard bra, my silver army dog tags, my grey skinny jeans that clung tightly to my curves, and my old battered trainers with red laces. From my bag I pulled a packet of tiny white tablets. I popped one and swallowed it easily without water. Then I stood back, glancing for a final time at my reflection, smiling sadly. 'I'm going to meet Cheryl Cole' I thought.


	2. Chapter 2

I hurried back through the crowd, searching for Sacha. Just as I arrived, two huge security guards opened the doors and people began to file forwards, nervous but excited, some of them crying. I took the baby from my sister who looked so happy that I was worried that she might cry too. I crouched down to her eye level.  
"Are you okay babe?"  
She nodded furiously and whispered "am I actually going to meet her? Really?"  
"See them doors over there?" I said, pointing to the entrance of the sop. Sacha nodded again. "She's just through there. Not long to wait now kiddo."  
Soon people started to leave the shop, all either grinning ear to ear or in floods of tears, all clutching signed books and CDs. The queue started to get smaller, and we begun to edge towards the doors. Sacha went very quiet and clung around my legs, whispering "she's just through there, she's really just through there" to herself every few moments. The baby cried feebly, and I rocked her gently, praying that she would go back to sleep. And still the queue got shorter. I could feel the heat radiating from the open doors of the shop, the lights ablaze inside illuminating Sacha's face, making her blink furiously. Time seemed to be moving in bursts, one moment I felt as though we would never get any closer, and the next, the grim faced security guards were drawing back the tape in front of the doors and we were suddenly inside the shop.  
Sacha had got her well read copy of 'Through My Eyes' from her rucksack and was holding it so tightly it seemed to restrict her breathing, which seemed to come in excited little gasps. The baby stopped crying, confused by the sudden bright light, and I sung quietly to her. The only thing between us and where Cheryl was sat was another huge poster, blocking our view. We could hear voices though, and I could tell that Sacha was listening intently, trying to identify Cheryl's voice.  
"Kimberley" Sacha whispered. I looked down at her.  
"Yeah?"  
"I'm scared" she muttered. I tried not to laugh at her serious dark eyes and her pouting lips. What did she have to be scared of? I wanted to hug her, but I was holding the baby, so instead I awkwardly pulled her to me in a one armed hug with the baby between us.  
Yet another security guard, built like a brick wall said "you can go"  
"Where?" I said stupidly, before realising that we were at the front of the queue, and he was motioning us forwards. It was our turn. Breaking away from Sacha, I pulled her forwards. "Come on" I said to her. She clung to my legs, half tripping me up. I felt sick, tired, but tried to walk as normally as possible behind the poster, towards the table.

There were surprisingly many people around, security and management, I thought. But my eyes were instinctively drawn to Cheryl, sitting confidently alone at the centre of the table. The first thing she said to me was "I've been hearing about you"  
"What?" I said, feeling as though the bottom of my stomach had been ripped out. She knew. Oh fcuk, she knew...  
"You've been painting nails! I hope you've been charging them!"  
I could breathe again. "It's okay. I was bored, it was no trouble."  
"Where are you from?"  
"Bradford. I'm Kimberley, by the way."  
"And what's your name babes?" she says, smiling at Sacha. Her accent was stronger than I remembered it on the TV.  
"Sacha" my little sister into my leg, not making eye contact  
"She's a bit shy suddenly" I say, smiling down at her  
"That's a beautiful name! Are these your sisters pet?" Cheryl asked, nodding towards me and the baby. Sacha shook her head.  
"No, I'm her sister, but this is my daughter" I explain. I saw Cheryl's big, dark eyes glance over my body, trying to work out my age. She blinked  
"How old are you pet?"  
"Seventeen" her eyes widened. I wondered if she was shocked.  
"Can I hold her?" she held her arms out to me, across the table. I hesitated, but beside me Sacha finally found her tongue.  
"Yes" she said, so I said nothing, carefully passing the baby to Cheryl, who held her, cuddling her close.  
"What's her name?" she asked, looking at me  
"Diana" I replied  
"Diana" she repeated "Hello Diana. That's a beautiful name, like the princess. How old is she? She's tiny!"  
I wondered if she always asked so many questions. "3 weeks"  
"Look at her little fingers!" I saw her eyes glance over my baby just the way she'd glanced at me, taking in every detail, her dark curls, her long, dark eyelashes, her light brown skin, the colour of milky coffee. "She's so beautiful. You're so lucky."  
"Thank you" I smiled "I know"  
"So do you go to school?" She asks  
I laugh, and Sacha says "No, Kimberley's a dancer!"  
Cheryl's eyes dart to me, full of genuine interest now "really? What type?" her eyes linger on my trainers "I'm guessing not ballet?"  
Again Sacha replies before I get chance "clubs, she dances in clubs!" Mentally I swear. Why couldn't Sacha keep her mouth shut?  
"I work in bars too..." I say hurriedly, not sure whether I'm making myself appear better or worse. If Sacha wasn't there I would have just said 'I'm a hooker' and not cared what Cheryl thought about me, but I couldn't say that in front of my eight year old sister. Cheryl seemed to be thinking along the same lines, dark eyes now flitting from Sacha to my cap. I could see words in her eyes, 'hooker, whore, prostitute, call girl' all in her head. I suddenly wish it didn't say 'PIMP' in such huge letters on the front of my cap.  
"So you're like...a call girl..."  
"Yes"  
"Oh."  
I looked at her, waiting for something in those beautiful dark eyes to shut down, waiting for her face to go blank, waiting for her to ask the security guards to get us to leave. I almost want her to hate me, but she doesn't. "Oh" she repeats, and I realise that she looks upset. She's still holding Diana, my daughter. She looks at me, and says, her voice slightly higher than normal, "are you on twitter?"  
I'm shocked "ummm, yeah"  
"What's your name on there?"  
"I'll write it down for you" she passes me a pen, and I pull a business card from my pocket, writing my twitter name on the blank side. I pass it to her.  
"Thank you" she says  
"Please, can you please sign my book please?" asks Sacha, shyly pushing it across the table. Cheryl gently kisses Diana's forehead before passing her back to me, so carefully that she could have been as fragile as a butterfly's wing. Cheryl signed the book whilst Sacha chattered away. Cheryl was very beautiful, surprisingly beautiful. Her dark hair was glossy and perfect, falling almost down to her waist. She was thinner than I thought she would be, and her body reminded me of Sacha, her limbs thin like a beautifully toned insect.  
"I want to be like you when I grow up" Sacha is saying  
"You want to be a singer?"  
"No, I want to be beautiful, like you. I love you."  
"I love you too! It's been lovely to meet you, all of you" Cheryl says, giving the book back to Sacha "I won't forget you" I hold Sacha's hand, and mouth 'thank you' at Cheryl, who smiles at me, that million dollar smile that could bring an army to its knees. She blows a kiss to Sacha, who is grinning ear to ear. Then we turn away and leave.  
I thought I'd never see Cheryl Cole again.  
How wrong was I?


	3. Chapter 3

Cheryl's POV  
I can't sleep. I doubt whether I'll ever be able to sleep again. Every time I close my eyes I see the girl from the signing, the one with the baby. What was she called? Kimberley, that was it. I'm in an expensive hotel room, feeling like I'm drowning in the huge king sized bed, tossing and turning, not able to forget her face. It wasn't the kind of face that you can forget easily, because she was very, very beautiful. She had long, soft hair and full lips and huge eyes like a baby deer. I wanted to reach out and touch her hair, see if was as soft as I'd imagined it being. I wanted to watch her lips as she talked, as she smiled. And her eyes...there was something in her eyes that made me want to take care of her, hold her close. 'She looked like a lost angel' I thought.  
And the baby. Something inside of me hurt so badly that I wanted to cry just thinking about her. "Diana, like the princess" I'd said. I suddenly realised that comparing her to a troubled, heartbroken woman who died far too early was a stupid thing to do, to say. She was just so, so perfect. I'd never seen anything so tiny and yet so faultless in every way. For a wild moment I allowed myself to imagine how it would feel if she were my daughter, my baby, not the daughter of some teenage hooker. But then I shook myself, feeling like a terrible, horrible person.  
"That poor girl" I muttered aloud, trying to make myself feel more compassionate. Turning over for what felt like the millionth time that night I looked at the tiny card on my bedside table. Propping myself up on my elbows and clicking on the lamp, I picked it up and read the words Kimmi_W on one side. I looked at her handwriting. It was slanted and confident, and she drew little circles instead of just dotting the 'i's. I flipped the card over and yet again read what was printed there. The address of a strip club called 'Bad' along with the silhouettes of two girls on poles. It was right here in London. I ran my finger over the word 'Bad', trying to imagine a Kimberley there, working. The thought appalled, disgusted me. The thought of her eyes, those angels eyes, seeing those things, the idea of her lips, the same lips that kissed her beautiful baby daughter, doing...I closed my eyes, not wanting to allow those images into my head.  
"She's seventeen" I found myself repeating "she's seventeen, she's only seventeen." The girl with the cute, shy little sister and adorable baby daughter. The girl who had spent the whole day painting my fan's nails. The girl with the most stunning curves and gorgeous smile that I had ever seen...  
I got up, throwing back the covers and slipping into a pair of jeans and a huge hoodie, carefully putting the business card into my pocket. I had no idea what I was going to do, the only thing I knew for sure was that I had to do something, anything. I glanced at the time on my Blackberry, 01:09am it read, before ringing my driver.

Ten minutes later I was in the back of a glossy black BMW outside London's most exclusive and expensive hotel. Leaning forwards to the driver I said "I want to go to 'Bad', the club in Soho. Do you know it?"  
He didn't look at me, but I could tell from his voice that he was smiling. "You bet I do" he replied, starting the engine. I sat back, watching the city fly past, remembering how it felt to be young and alone again.

He pulls up on the opposite side of the road to a small, dingy nightclub, with a huge neon sign reading 'Bad' and some flashing lights in the shapes of girls on poles just like the ones on the business card.  
"This is it" said the driver, as if I couldn't tell.  
"Can we wait a minute?"  
"Yeah" he says, and turns the radio on. I rested my elbow on the door, looking at the club. I could see a group of men, standing outside and smoking. I watched the smoke furl from their lips, collecting and becoming almost solid on the cold night air. They were laughing, slapping each other on the back, and they were surprisingly old. One of them had a bald patch as big as a tea plate on the back of his head. I knew men like them, with their sweaty hands and heavy bodies and breath that smelt of cigarettes and whisky. I didn't want to think about them with Kimberley, their bodies near to hers.  
I watched the lights and the way that they reflected in the puddles on the dark, wet pavement. Pink, red, pink lights reflected all over the street as the sign flashed and flickered. I suddenly realised that it was raining and the fat raindrops were splashing onto the window, blurring my vision as if I were crying. I wound down the window, sure that no-one would notice me, but equally sure that I had to be able to see clearly. I had no plan, no idea of what I should do, maybe just walk into the strip club and ask to see Kimberley...I realised that I didn't even know her last name. I took the card out of my pocket and read it yet again, turning it over and over in my fingers. ' Kimmi_W' I wondered what the 'W' stood for, maybe Williams or Walker.  
This was all so stupid. I could just go home, go back to the expensive hotel suite, take a few sleeping pills and go to sleep and forget about the whole fcuking thing. Why should I care anyway? Didn't she have friends, parents to help her? And even if this was the right place, and I went in and she was there, what would I say 'Hi, I'm Cheryl Cole, and I know we've only met once, but I'd quite like you to stop having sex for money and go back to school. Oh, and you're an irresponsible mother and I'd do a much better job of bringing up that child than you could ever do.' Even in my head it sounds stupid. I leant forwards, about to ask the driver if we could go back to the hotel, when I saw her.

The door of the strip club banged open and a man almost fell into the street. At first I thought he'd been chucked out of the club, but then a girl followed him. A girl wearing silver platform stripper heels and a tiny black dress, so short that you could see her suspenders, and a man's jacket, far too big for her, wrapped around her shoulders. Even though I'd only seen her once, I knew that I'd recognise that body anywhere.  
The man looked around for a taxi, swaying drunkenly on the spot, then he said something and laughed. She laughed too. I wondered if I could hear fear in her laugh, I wasn't quite sure. I wondered if her heart was beating as fast and as loudly as mine, so loud I was sure that she'd hear it. He pulled her close, whispering to her, his hand on her arse. I watched as a taxi came down the street, and he flagged it, his other hand still touching her. I wanted her to pull away, but she didn't, she waited for him to get into the cab before ducking to follow him.  
As she bent her head, her eyes met mine across the dark, wet street. Her beautiful eyes, horribly dilated, (though through fear or something else, I couldn't tell) registered shock, amazement and then shame. Her mouth opened slightly, and she moved her hand towards her head. We seemed to spend forever in that moment, looking at each other as if we could never look enough, before she got into the cab and closed the door, slamming it hard. I watched it drive away, its tyres splashing through puddles and spraying the pavement with water. I listened to my heart hammering inside my chest.  
Then I leant forwards to the driver and said shakily "take me home pet."

Kimberley's POV  
I slumped in the back of the cab. I wondered if you could have a heart attack when you're seventeen. 'If you can, this is what it would feel like' I thought. Cheryl fcuking Cole was outside the club. What the fcuk was she doing there? Looking for me? The idea made me feel sick, sweaty, and I remembered the way I'd written my twitter name on the back of a business card. How could I have been so stupid? How was I meant to know that she'd follow me? I tried to calm my breathing.  
The man, I even couldn't remember his name, edged closer, his breath on my neck hot and stale. "Babes" he slurred. I looked at him, his eyes out of focus, his mouth slightly open like a panting dog. 'He'll pay you' I tell myself, trying to be calm. And I try not to think about Cheryl as I let him touch me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Cheryl's POV**  
It's half one in the afternoon and I'm alone in the studio. I rest my wrists on the keyboard, my fingers hesitate above the keys. ' Kimmi_W' I type, and then pause. I have no idea what I should say next, and I suddenly realise that whatever I do type, two million other people will read, comment on and analyse. I click onto my DMs, ignoring the 1,043 unread messages, and type her twitter name again. sh!t. She doesn't even follow me. Two million people and the only one I really want to talk to doesn't care enough to even follow me on twitter. She probably doesn't care what I think. I lean back in my chair, my head in my hands, and try desperately to forget about her, to not care about her. But I can't get her face out of my head, I can't forget her dilated pupils, like those of a hunted small animal. I swear under my breath.  
I have to find her again.  
I have to go back to the club.  
Tonight.

**Kimberley's POV**  
It was cold outside, bitter cold. I was almost glad to get into the club, where it was already hot and sweaty and crowded. In the dressing room I adjusted my shoes which tonight were a cheap, plastic pair of shiny red heels. "Like Dorothy's" Sacha had said when I bought them. "Dorothy in 'The Wizard of Oz.' She killed the wicked witch."  
"Two minutes." John, the club manager had poked his head around the dressing room door, but now he was gone. Leaning close to the mirror I slicked on some red lipstick and adjusted my outfit, tonight I wore a gold bra with a see-through black vest top and a tiny pair of sequinned black hot pants. I self consciously looked at my stomach, which was almost perfectly flat again. Silently I wondered at how it had just sprung back, so quickly that when, a only week after she was born, I asked John for my job back, he seemed surprised that I had ever had a baby. 'Like elastic' I thought.  
"Come on" John was back. I stood and followed the other girls out of the room. 'Showtime' I thought.  
The music was loud. So loud that I couldn't think, all I could do was dance. The lights dazed me, they flickered confusingly around the room. I could only see a few feet around my own, tiny stage, the figures around the bar a few feet away were distant, blurry silhouettes. The men in heavy leather armchairs around the stage smelt of sweat and cheap alcohol and even cheaper aftershave. I was glad to have the pole. ""It gives you something to hang onto when the freaks try and drag you outta there" my mum had once said. I knew what she meant now.  
As I danced I scanned the faces of the men seated around me. Two old men, three regulars, a group of rowdy teenage boys, a lesbian hen party. I wondered calmly which I would go to a scummy hotel room with tonight.

At midnight we had a break, and I left through the back door, thinking vaguely that I wanted a cigarette. The night was, like so many in big cities, starless and endlessly deep. I took off my shoes and walked slowly through the dark alley, passing the bins and skips, enjoying the freezing air on my sweaty skin and the feeling of the rough concrete in between my toes.  
I leant against the brick wall, suddenly realising that I didn't have any cigarettes with me. I sighed, wondering what Cheryl bloody Cole would think of me if she could see me now. I wondered how much she hated me. 'A lot' I thought, 'she'll despise you.' I tried to work out how I felt about this. Sad, I thought, sad and ashamed. But she followed me. Why? Maybe she didn't believe me, maybe she just wanted to see it for herself. Have a laugh at the scummy hooker. This idea sent shivers down my back, and I tried to imaging Cheryl laughing in a cold, mocking way like the girls at school used to. I couldn't. All I could see was her pretty little face, perfectly made up, smiling for the cameras on last Saturday night's X Factor. I closed my eyes.  
I didn't know why it mattered so much to me. She had more right than anyone in this world to hate me. She should hate me. She should hate me even more than I hated myself. But I didn't want her to.  
Behind me I heard the back door of the club slam closed. 'It's one of the other girls, I can ask her for a cigarette' I thought, but I didn't open my eyes. I just listened to her footsteps, light, tapping on the concrete. I still didn't open my eyes. I could feel her body heat close to me. I could smell her perfume, expensive, beautiful, like wood smoke and fire and roses all mixed together. But I didn't open my eyes. 'Stop being stupid, you're imagining it' I told myself. I opened my eyes.  
"Hello Kimberley" Cheryl Cole said shyly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Kimberley's POV**  
I stared at her. Close to she was almost painfully beautiful, her hair was long and perfectly glossy, tumbling down her back almost down to her tiny waist. Her skin was flawless and glowed in the golden streetlamps. Her eyes were a deep chocolate brown, lined with the longest, darkest eyelashes that I had ever seen.  
"Can we talk?" she said quietly.  
My heart did a back flip. What the hell was she doing there? I wanted to scream at her, tell her to leave me, tell her to get as far away as possible. I wanted to tell her that I didn't give a toss about her or what she wanted to talk about. But I didn't. I tried to keep my voice calm as I replied "yeah. Okay."  
She looked around, taking in the bins and the graffiti on the wall. "Not here." She begun to walk away from me, down the alley towards the street.  
"Cheryl!" I called after her, "I need on be back on stage in like five minutes! Can't this wait?"  
She turned around and slowly approached me, raising a hand to my face. I flinched away as if she were going to hit me, but she seemed not to notice. She softly stroked my cheek, her hand gentle, caressing. She moved closer to me and her eyes, barely inches from my own, filled with tears as she looked deep into my eyes, sending shivers down my spine. She opened her mouth and for one crazy, terrifying, amazing moment I thought that she was going to kiss me.  
"I will never," she said seriously, "let you go back into that fcuking club again. I promise." Her voice shook slightly, and I wondered if she was going to cry. I wanted to hug her so, so close, tell her that everything was going to be okay and never, ever let her go.

But I didn't. I let her hold my hand tight in hers as she led me down the alley that led to the main street. I let her look around carefully before half dragging me down the road. I let her pull me into an expensive looking wine bar. "Go upstairs, I'll get drinks." She said, and I did as I was told. There was something about her that made it hard to argue. And I wanted to hear what she had to say, because when Cheryl bloody Cole wants to talk to you, you shut up and listen.  
I walked up a black wrought iron spiral staircase that had white fairy lights wrapped around the banister. The walls were bare brick and decorated here and there with pages of adverts ripped out of old magazines and photographs of small children and smiling lovers, all in black and white, their faces blurred.  
The room upstairs was huge, filled with stools and high tables. The walls were still naked bricks and one of the walls was made entirely of glass, so that I could see all the way out to the river, Victoria Embankment and the London eye. I sat down on a stool next to the window and rested my head on the cold glass, my breath steaming up the surface. My heart pounded and my hands shook. What did she want to talk about? Why was she here? For a moment I wondered if she knew...but she wouldn't be here if she did. She would be as far away from me as possible. Anyway, how could she know? No. She didn't know anything. 'Calm down' I told myself over and over. I had to stay cool.

A few moments later she returned, high heels clinking on the iron staircase. She carried a bottle of wine and two glasses, and smiled when she saw me. God, that smile was far, far too beautiful for words.  
"Hey pet" she said softly once she had say down and poured herself a glass of wine. "Do you want some?"I smiled at her "what?" she asked self-consciously.  
"I thought that you were going to lecture me. But instead you're going to encourage me to drink?"  
"Oh yeah. You're only seventeen..." she hesitated, and I reached for the bottle, pouring myself a glass.  
"What do you wanna talk about?" I ask her, taking a sip. I don't know much about wine, but it tastes good, and was probably very expensive.  
"You." She says simply, also taking a sip. Then she puts her glass down. "What are you doing Kimberley?"  
I shrug. She can remember my name, and I don't know why, but this surprises me.  
"Why are you doing this?" She says, her voice louder now, as if I might not have heard her last question.  
"Because I like it?" I say sarcastically.  
"Don't sh!t me Kim." She just called me Kim. Cheryl. Fcuking. Cole. Just called me Kim.  
I just shrug again. "It's a long story..."  
"I've got all night."  
I look out of the window. I can't look at her. I look at the London eye, the little tiny cars with their headlights burning bright and the sky reflected in the river. "I need the money" I say.  
"Then get a fcuking paper round. That's what kids do."  
"I'm talking big boy money Cheryl!" I say, almost angrily. But I can't be properly angry at her. Being angry at her would be like kicking a puppy, just plain wrong. She looks at me, and takes another sip. I wonder if I've hurt her. "Listen, everyone's got problems, right? My dad's got money problems."  
"So he pimps you out?" There is something cold in her voice.  
"No! It's not like that! I do this for the money, but nobody makes me."  
"But who does pimp you?"  
"The club manager. John. But you can't tell him how old I am! He thinks I'm nineteen!"  
She pauses for a moment before saying "so you go home with men? You have sex with them?"  
I don't reply, I just nod and listen to her swear under her breath. "What kinda money problems?"  
"I don't wanna talk about it." She looks at me from above her wine glass, and I suddenly realise that the wine is a perfect, blood red. It makes me feel slightly sick.  
"Okay..." she says slowly "how much do you charge?"  
"You're asking me that?" I laugh, and so does she.  
"Yep" she replies, giggling.  
"It depends" I say seriously "On how rich he looks. And how broke I am. A hundred quid for the night. Maybe sixty just for sex?"  
She closes her eyes slowly and sighs. Then she opens them "what about Sacha and Diana?" She can remember their names too.  
"They're waiting for me in the back of the club" I say seriously, then laugh at her expression. "They're at home, with me dad. Relax."  
"God Kim, you can't do that to me!"  
"Sorry. I know I shouldn't joke."  
"You really shouldn't, this is serious." She takes another sip.  
"Why do you care?" I ask quietly, and she takes her time replying.  
"Because I can't stop thinking about you. In that club, all alone. Going home with god knows who."  
I smile sadly "girls like you should hate girls like me Cheryl."  
"What do you mean, girls like me?"  
"Have you seen yourself recently? You're beautiful, rich, idolised, perfect...the list goes on Cheryl!"  
She shrugs sadly "maybe. I just don't like the thought of you...you know..."  
"Yeah. I know."

We sip our drinks in silence for a moment, then she says "I was serious about what I said earlier. I don't want you to go back into that club."  
"Say's you and who's army?"  
"Kim! Look I know you need the money..."  
"You don't really have any right to order me about, you do realise that?"  
"I could tell your fcuking pimp how old you are..."  
"Cheryl!" I say warningly  
"Ok. Not tonight. You're not going back tonight."  
"Aren't I?"  
"No. You're coming home with me." My heart stops.  
"Cheryl!-" The word sounds strangely twisted and strangled.  
"Please, just listen Kimberley-"  
"You're going to regret this, you know that, don't you?"  
"No, I'm not." She's serious. Oh fcuk, she's serious. "I know you need the money, I'll give you a hundred, two hundred, whatever you want."  
"Cheryl, seriously-"  
"Kimberley, this is my serious face. You're coming home with me."  
"I'm a filthy whore! You don't want me in your house!"  
"My house is used people bringing filthy whores home. But you're not one of them. I promise." Her voice shudders and breaks, shattering into tears. I can't reply to that. I feel as though someone has knotted my windpipe. My head is full of hazy, purple-ish mist that the wine has created. I can only understand one thing. 'I'll be safe tonight. No men. No filthy hotel. No scary, painful sex.'  
"Okay." I try and breathe, try and tell her to breathe. I hop down from my bar stool, and pull her into a hug. I can't think of anything else to do. I can't stand seeing her cry. I take her face in my hands, and wipe away her tears, creating smudgy, mascara streaked lines over her cheeks. "Shhh" I whisper into her hair. "Dry them tears babe. We'll be alright. I promise."  
"Let's go home" she says, voice still thick with tears. So I take her hand again, gripping it tight. She looks at me, huge, dark eyes taking in my face, and she bites her lips. "Thank you" Cheryl whispers.


	6. Chapter 6

The big, gleaming BMW drew to a halt and the engine stuttered, groaning. I looked at the back of the driver's head, and Cheryl opened the door and jumped out. I did the same. I wobbled for a moment, drunk and tried, looking around as the BMW turned in a tight circle and drove back towards the gates. The sky was dark and starless and the house was huge, immaculate and shadowy. I listened to her walking away, her footsteps crunching on the gravel of the driveway, I then I followed her through a huge wooden door and into an entrance hall. I paused, taking in what I saw.  
The floor was white marble, as were the stairs, with intricately carved banisters that seemed to glow, ghostlike, through the darkness. The walls were painted a deep plum colour, dark and rich, and were completely bare save for a single canvas print that showed row upon row of terraced houses and high rise flats, and in the background, the curve of the Tyne Bridge. Newcastle. I smiled.  
There was no furniture in the room except a sideboard made of mirrored wood. On the top there was a photo frame, but as I walked towards it I realised that the glass was cracked and there was no photo in it, only the black velvet backing. Cheryl had already left the room, going through another door to the right.

I followed her. There was something about that room, with its gleaming floor and empty photo frame that made me feel uncomfortable, scared almost. The next room was a kitchen, again whit a white marble floor, shining like diamonds. The worktops were black granite, showing up every scruff and fingerprint. The cooker looked so clean that I doubted that it had ever been used, I almost expected to see the plastic covers still on the electric hobs. It made me feel very cheap and dirty just to stand in that room. In the corner there was a huge American style gunmetal grey fridge. This room was brightly lit by spotlights in the ceiling, bathing the room in an unforgiving white glow. Cheryl had kicked off her shoes, leaving them in a jumble in a corner, the red soles glistening.  
"You're very clean, aren't you?" I said, and she laughed  
"I'm not much of a chef, can't do it to save us life. Do you want anything to drink pet?" Her words were slurred. How much had she drank already? She was opening the fridge, and I saw that it was empty of everything except alcohol, bottles of wine and cans of beer.  
"Is that all you drink?" I ask her as she found wine glasses, pouring it and slopping it all over the shiny worktop. It looked like a pool of blood.  
"No, I have one of those coffee machines" she said, pointing to an expensive coffee maker "but I don't know how to work it. I don't want to break it, you know? I'm not very good at stuff like that." She held the wine glass out to me, and I took it and drank some. It was strong and left a bitter taste in the back of my mouth. "Are you okay?" She asked me.  
"Yeah. This is all just a bit weird." I am in Cheryl Cole's ACTUAL house. Drinking her wine. I can't believe it.  
"Weird like what?"  
"I don't know, just weird. Are you sure you want me to stay, I can go if you want?"  
"Do you say that to everyone who you go home with? And babe, it's-" she checks the time on her phone "nearly two in the morning. Where the fcuk you going to go?" She grins at me and pours herself another glass of wine. "You look tired" she says  
"I don't get much sleep. I look after Diana all day, and work most of the night."I kick off my shoes, leaving them next to hers.  
"Oh babe" she pulls me into a hug. She's very thin, and I can feel her hipbones. I remember her empty fridge, and can't help but worry about her. "Come on..." she shrugs of her jacket and leaves it in a pile on the kitchen floor, finishing her wine in one gulp. How much has she drunk? I try and remember, but she takes my hand and leads me out of the room, the feel of her skin on mine instantly making me forget everything.

Her hand is hot and dry, and she grips onto me hard, leading me up the stairs. I think about telling her that I'll sleep on the sofa, then remember that she's paying me. 'It doesn't matter who she is, I'm still the whore' I remind myself, as she leads me to the landing, our bare feet pattering on the floorboards. Through half open doors I catch glimpses of gleaming bathrooms and a huge study. She pulled me through a door at the far end, into her bedroom. I knew at once that it was her bedroom because it was the only room in the house that I'd seen any sort of personal touch.  
Again the floor was bare floorboards and the walls were all plain white, the bed was a massive four poster, all made of metal, with a wrought iron headboard and curled, carved feet. The sheets were white and spotless and a couple of cushions were scattered over it, made out of smoky grey silk. The curtains were draped over the posts were soft, almost transparent white silk and were tied to the posts by a beaded grey tie-backs, and it reminded me of the video for 'California King Bed'. On each side of the bed there was a small grey cupboard. One was bare except for a small wad of bank notes. But the other had three photo frames and three rings, as well as a small stack of newspapers.

Behind me I heard the door being closed softly, and I felt a familiar fear start of eat away inside of me. I was trapped, and I knew it. I thought about the money, how much I needed it. I stood still and quiet in the middle of the room, watching as she walked to the opposite side of the bed, sitting down and gently touching the rings on the table. Something about her seemed to hypnotise me, and I couldn't say, do, anything.  
I took a deep breath, and let it out, and she turned to look at me, eyes surprised as if she'd only just remembered I was there. "sh!t Kimberley, don't look so scared!" she patted beside her on the bed, and I crossed the room and sat next to her. Raising a hand, she brushed my hair out of my face. "What the hell have they done to you?" she said quietly. I didn't reply. I could feel her breath, hot and alcohol scented, on my face. Suddenly she turned away from me, picking a vest top from the floor, and gave it to me. "Put it on." She got up and, turning away, stripped off her top and pulled off her jeans. I turned away too, taking off my see through vest and sequined bra and pulling on the vest top she'd given to me. When I turned back to her, she was sitting on the bed, wearing a Chelsea shirt with a number 3 on and tiny black shorts.  
"That's-"  
"His, yeah"  
"Oh...I'm sorry..."  
She reached out to me, and pulled me down beside her on the bed. Cheryl looked at me, eyes slightly out of focus and quickly filling with tears. "Cheryl, don't cry" I said, almost pleading with her. I tried to wipe her tears away, but a moment later she was sobbing in my arms, her head on my chest and her legs wrapped around mine. "What the fcuk am I doing Kimberley? How the fcuk did we get here?" she muttered  
"I don't know. I don't know- I should go-"  
"NO!" she shouted, breaking down into sobs. "I can't sleep alone! Kimberley please, I can't-"  
"Okay, okay. Cheryl, if you want me to stay, I'm not going anywhere. I'm here." She lay down, her fingers wrapped in my hair, my arms around her tiny body.  
"Thank you," she whispered "and I'm sorry"  
"What for?"  
"Bringing you here."  
I think before whispering "I've done worse." I feel her tears drip onto my neck, I smell her hot, fiery scent, and then I fall asleep, my arms still wrapped around her.


	7. Chapter 7

The sun was streaming in through the open French doors when I woke. I opened my eyes slowly and blinked in the sunlight. The covers where blanched white and felt cool and still wonderfully stiff against my hot skin. Where was I? What was I wearing? I was surprised that I wasn't naked, I was wearing a thin vest top, and it smelt of another woman, smoky with a hint of rose and something else that I couldn't quite distinguish.  
Suddenly I realised.

I was in Cheryl Cole's bed.  
This was every boy's, and most girls, dream. I couldn't help but smile.  
I sat up and saw her silhouette out on the balcony. It was only now that I realised just how thin she was, in silhouette she looked almost skeletal. But she was so beautiful.  
I threw back the covers and got out of bed, the polished floorboards feeling strange and cold under my bare feet. Silently I leant across the bed and lay a hand over where she'd slept. The sheets were still warm.

I stepped across the jumbled mess of sequins and lace on the floor and pulled my hair up away from my face and tied it into a ponytail, the curling ends brushing my back, tickling the nape of my neck. I padded out onto the balcony. I wanted to touch her, to see if she was real, and I slipped my hand around her waist. At my touch she flinched away, and her eyes flashed with fear for a moment, looking right through me. But now she looked at me properly and said "I thought you were still asleep. Did I wake yous?" The way her accent skipped over the words made me smile as I shook my head, and she smiled back, wrapping her arm around my shoulders before turning away and looking out over the lawn to where there were trees and a high wall. "Do you want a fag?" she asked me, and for the first time I realised that she was smoking, the cigarette in her right hand resting on the iron railing.  
"Yeah, I suppose" I replied, and from behind her ear she took another cigarette, home rolled and slightly crushed, the tobacco poking out slightly from the end. She passed it to me, her hands shaking. I wondered how long it had been since she'd last smoked. "I haven't got a light" I said, but she was already holding a lighter out to me. I took it. It was metal, heavy and expensive and warm, as if it had been directly next to her skin. I lit my cigarette, then looked at it. There was an engraving on one side, reading 'To Cheryl, With Love From -' the last word had been scratched out of the metal so that it was completely unreadable.  
"Cheryl, what's happened to this?" I asked her  
"What?" she blinked and rubbed her eyes  
"The engraving, it's been all scratched out, like with a knife"  
She didn't look at me as she replied "It was either the lighter or me wrists" she smiled, but I could tell that she wasn't joking. I opened my mouth to ask her about it, but she spoke first. "It makes us feel sick."  
"What?" her lighter was still in my hand. It really was unnaturally hot.  
"Smoking. It makes us feel sick." Cheryl said, whilst I took a long drag of my cigarette and softly breathed out the smoke from a tiny gap in my lips. I felt the smoke, hot and toxic, like fire, in my mouth.  
"Why do you do it then?" I looked at her, and she shrugged, saying  
"It relaxes me, it's like," she paused for a second, thinking "it helps me to forget, that's it. To calm down, like. But I don't like it."  
I took another drag, wondering why she was telling me this, and absentmindedly flicked the ashes away. I watched them fall, still burning as they fell.  
"What time is it?" I asked  
"Nearly eight when I got up"  
"I should leave-"  
"N-no, Kimberley, don't-"  
I just look at her, but I don't reply. Then I watch the ash pile up into minute black heaps on the patio below. I saw that where she stood the railing was charred, all burnt and blackened. I wondered how often she stood there chain smoking, just like she was now, to forget. Her tattooed hand would rest on the railing, delicate, only just touching it...

For the first time that morning I studied her face. The bright light, instead of being unforgiving and highlighting every imperfection, no matter how minute, made her look even more beautiful. Her olive skin was flawless and glowed, and the tiny lines around her eyes from years of crying, instead of making her looking older, gave her face qualities that made it look whole. Her eyebrows were furrowed and in her beautiful eyes I could read everything that she was thinking. Yes, she was beautiful, with her dark hair loose and curling over her shoulders and almost down to her tiny waist.

I finished my cigarette and flicked the final ashes away, stubbed it on the balcony then flicked onto the patio below. I watched it fall. My heart sank as I turned to Cheryl. "I need to go home" I said.


	8. Chapter 8

She looked at me, and I suddenly realised that she looked like a little child who had lost her parents. "Cheryl..." I begun, but I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. Her hands wrapped around my vest top and she clung to me. I reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I've got Diana, and she needs me."  
Cheryl smiled sadly "you've very lucky you know, she's beautiful"  
"Thank you. And Cheryl, if there's anything I can do..."  
"Let me give you a lift home"  
I paused, but her eyes were pleading, irresistible. "Okay" I said quietly.  
"What are you going to tell Sacha?"  
"About this? Nothing. Why, do you think I should?"  
Cheryl shrugged "I don't know"  
I laughed "she'll kill me! She'll want to know everything, she's like, obsessed with you."  
"Really? Me?" Cheryl looked surprised.  
"Her bedroom is like a shrine. I would show you later, but it's a bit weird."  
"No. Nothing to do with that kid could ever be weird. I don't believe you."  
"You don't have to live with her!"  
"I'm not listening!"

She grinned at me and took my hand in hers, leading me back inside, suddenly happy again. In her bedroom she opened another door, which revealed a walk-in wardrobe.  
"Oh my god! Cheryl!" she smiled at me, leading me inside. In the centre of the room there was a large red leather sofa and on the wooden floor lay deep rugs, made of silver-grey faux chinchilla hair. The walls were covered in posters and mirrors and hanging rails filled with the most beautiful clothes I could even imagine. There was English red lace and Scandinavian white fur and Italian black leather, smooth grey silk and golden sequins and hot pink netting. Above the hanging space came shelf upon shelf of shoes, and in a corner hung handbags. I ran a finger along them and saw Mulberry, Balenciaga and Miu-Miu.

I turned to Cheryl, grinning "Is this for real?" she smiled back, then slipped off the Chelsea shirt that she wore. As she turned away I read the name 'A. Cole' and a number 3 on the back, and for a second I felt as though someone had punched me in the ribs. But then it was gone, and I could see her muscled, tanned back. I turned away, pretending to inspect her posters of Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn and, I smiled, Kate Moss and Rihanna.  
"I love her" she said, and I turned to watch her wriggle into some skinny jeans and throw on a hoodie.  
"Which one?" I asked  
"All of them I suppose, but Rihanna...she's like, wow. I love her" she said, passing me a jumper, which I put on.  
"Yeah, same..." I looked at the poster again "she's perfect isn't she?"  
"No-one's perfect. No-one." said Cheryl, standing behind me and also looking at the poster  
"Apart from you, obviously" I said, and Cheryl slapped me, laughing.  
"How can you stand there and say that?" she giggled, looking in one of the mirrors "I look a mess"  
"Everyone wants to look like you, you're pretty. You should hear Sacha, you wear something, the next thing you know she just has to have one the same." I flop down onto the sofa, and Cheryl sits beside me.  
"Doesn't she want to look like you?"  
"Who, Sacha? No, but I don't mind, the less she wants to be like me the better"  
"Why?"  
"I'm not really a perfect role model for her, am I?"  
"I don't know...you're really pretty. Have you got a boyfriend?"  
I shake my head and bite my lip. I feel as though we are entering dangerous waters, I can almost feel the tension in the room rise, but I reply honestly. I will only lie where necessary, I promise myself.  
"What kind of boy would want a girlfriend like me? No, I'm a good ride for a night and I keep a bed warm, but that's it. Nothing else." I say calmly. She nods, as if she understands. I wonder if she does.

"What about Diana's dad?" her mouth moves, creating the inevitable question, one that I have been asked so many times that lying should be easy. It isn't. Four words. She only said four words. And if I answered her honestly I could make her hate me forever.  
I close my eyes, feeling my heart pounding inside my chest, so loudly I'm sure that Cheryl will hear and know that something is wrong. I can feel the blood racing around my head, making it hard for me to think straight. What are my options? I could lie. I could pretend I hadn't heard. I could leave, run downstairs and out of the front door, as fast as I could. Or I could tell her the truth. This makes me feel ill, hot and cold all at the same time. My mind races, and I can feel something, either tears or sick begin to collect at the back of my throat, burning.  
"Kimberley?" she says  
"He was a client" I tell her. I didn't even have to lie.


End file.
